Purgatory

tate ham

There is a place where words do not matter.

Hear nothing but music and breath, see nothing but muscle and sweat.

Here, you’ll help me when I’m hard up, fill my cup when I’m dry.

The slump of flesh on wood sounds like a prayer in this space.

Our watches stop working, we have all that’s left of time to die.

God Bless us gorgeous fools who play all the wrong hands.

These bodies are a wordless hymn, a shout into the haze.

Everything is an invitation and nothing is out of reach.

Body and blood and a loud beat, a first communion.

All your offerings at the altar, oh I wish it was mine.

This is the only religion.